Fanzine of Herbivorous Youth
Animal Review for March 18
Lack of Slugs II
Slugs aren't lazy, they're just slow. Unlike me. I'm incredibly lazy, although the tasks I choose to perform are accomplished with deft efficiency. For months now I've been wondering what wild slugs do in the winter and how long they live. I haven't looked it up, and I probably never will, and who really cares?
Prince Myshkin, clad only in a G-string and T-shirt whose system of lacing coyly suggested bondage wear, led me to the slugs. They were spotted pale brown and fawn like giraffes. Two lay locked in a suggestive embrace while several others looked on. He and I said lots of naive, obscene things about them until someone else looked in and declared that the holes we were admiring are the slugs' breathing apparatus.
"These are no German slugs," I said wisely, knocking back a shot of Prosecco. German slugs are black. The Prince's slugs were cute in comparison to German slugs, but only, mostly, because they had eyes on stalks. Eyes on stalks, I was forced to conclude, are cute. My mental processes were no more sharp and coherent then than they are now, and for lack of anything better to do, I soon returned to the party.
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